This is the funniest book I’ve read in a while. Almost up to the PG Wodehouse level. That’s the highest compliment I know to give.

A witty & hilarious satire of all the "A Year in Provence," "Under the Tuscan Sun" books that romanticize the expat life in Europe. Once again, an overly-refined Brit goes to Italy to follow his writing muse. Please note -- he is a ghostwriter of biographies for celebrities, not a Nobel nominee. That fact does not limit his pretensions whatsoever. Settling into his quaint abode, he is horrified when his new neighbor moves in. Also an expat, she is fleeing her crimelord, overprotective family in Eastern Europe. Now the hijinks begin... a series of wrong conclusions & misunderstandings makes for very funny encounters. The plot brings in some other wryly-drawn characters & Hamilton-Paterson has a gift for language. Footnote -- Fernet Branca is the most vile liqueur I have ever tasted -- Our Writer Hero uses it as the centerpiece for several bizarre recipes of which he is unduly proud.

SOTTO IL SALE DI TOSCANA



Gerald Samper è un ghost writer: scrive (auto)biografie di campioni dello sport che hanno molto successo. Hanno successo sia i libri che Gerald scrive senza firmarli, che le persone di cui scrive, per quanto, a parte distinguersi in qualche sport, sono generalmente delle nullità umane.
Può permettersi di scrivere più o meno dove vuole. E questa volta ha scelto l’Italia, ovviamente la Toscana, per la precisione le Apuane.
Gerald è snob come pochi. E inventa ricette di cucina assurde, spacciandole per sperimentali, tra tutte le quali solo una è vagamente commestibile secondo quanto suggerisce lo stesso Hamilton-Paterson nelle interviste: le cozze al cioccolato.



La seccantissima vicina Marta, una massa di capelli crespi con al centro una faccia brufolosa, viene dall’immaginaria Repubblica di Voynovia, che assomiglia tanto alla Russia o giù di lì. Si spaccia per compositrice di colonne sonore, e quindi fa rumore.
Marta è in fuga da suo padre che è un boss della mafia est-europea.
Anche Marta propone ricette di cucina assurde: ma le sue non sono inventate, sono quelle tipiche dell’immaginaria Repubblica di Voynovia. Orrore!

La vicenda è raccontata a capitoli alternati da entrambi i personaggi, Gerald e Marta, accomunati da cordiale antipatia: ognuno offre il suo punto di vista, e il lettore è libero di scegliere quale adottare.
Se Marta invita a cena Gerald, l’inglese è tutto contento d’essere l’unico ospite, perché è noto che gli inviti a casa d’altri generano “competizione contributiva”. Ed ecco la spiegazione regalataci:
Si tratta di una sindrome storicamente accertata… Andando a Betlemme, un Re Magio da solo si sarebbe probabilmente presentato con una scatola di After Eight.



Una cosa accomuna i due contendenti vicini di casa: la passione per il Fernet Branca. Non è chiaro chi lo versi nei bicchierini per primo: ne vanno entrambi matti. Gerald, per esempio, tra le tante propone il gelato all’aglio e Fernet.
Sembra che le cose si stiano mettendo bene. Sono passati due giorni dalla nostra cena e ancora nessun segno di Marta. Lo considero un trionfo culinario: l’uso ingegnoso del cibo come arma d’attacco. Il gelato all’aglio e Fernet Branca non sarà forse molto raffinato, ma è molto efficace e ho la sensazione, avendovi dato la ricetta, di avervi messo in mano la versione pacifista della famosa 44 Magnum di Clint Eastwood. “Fammi onore, Marta” devo aver detto, e con mia grande sorpresa lei mi ha onorato prendendone tre massicce porzioni. Se fossi un bravo vicino, a quest’ora sarei già stato da lei per assicurarmi che sia ancora viva, ma non lo sono, quindi non l’ho fatto.



La satira di Hamilton-Paterson, che ha effettivamente vissuto per anni in Toscana, a Castiglion Fiorentino, in un casale abbandonato da decenni, è diretta contro i suoi connazionali, e gli americani e gli stranieri in genere, e i nuovi ricchi che arrivano dalla Russia, quelli che hanno inventato il Chiantishire, quelli come la collega scrittrice Frances Mayes, autrice del best seller Sotto il sole di Toscana, che ha portato a Cortona un turismo inaspettato, ma anche fatto triplicare il prezzo di case e alloggi. E anche i britannici producono dell’olio evo per il quale a Londra pagano prezzi da rapina. E così i furbi agenti immobiliari indigeni. E tutti quelli che hanno trasformato i cuochi in chef e poi in maître à penser.


Gli studi cinematografici Pisorno a Tirrenia, non più attivi dal 1969.

Hamilton-Paterson non si fa mancare nulla, e introduce anche un regista di film porno al lavoro nei gloriosi studi cinematografici Pisorno (tra Pisa e Livorno).
Romanzo divertente, maligno, urticante, un cocktail al vetriolo (ooops, al Fernet Branca). Oggi si definirebbe politicamente scorretto.


James Hamilton-Paterson.

This is a fun read for someone who has a more-than-moderate taste for a particular flavour of absurd British humour. I for one fit into that category, and I merely liked it. There’s not really much of a plot; this novel is more of a series of vignettes based on misunderstandings and false assumptions.

The story is told in alternating narrative between two neighbors who have both recently purchased adjacent villas in picturesque Italian mountain country. First we meet Gerald Samper, an English ghostwriter who likes to cook elaborate meals and sing opera - both poorly - whenever he isn’t actively writing a biography for vapid sports celebrities. Next we meet Marta, a brilliant composer from the fictional ex-Soviet republic Voynovia. The two attempt to speak English to each other, which for Gerald is his mother tongue; however, Marta speaks very little English, and so much of the humor in the book is derived from their constant inability to communicate and the ensuing misunderstandings this causes. While I enjoyed Marta as a character, Gerald is an untrustworthy narrator, and much that is intended to be humorous about him I merely found annoying; I could not wait to get back to the parts about Marta.

For example, Gerald is a self-proclaimed foodie, and enjoys making improbable vomit-inducing dishes that become progressively worse: garlic and fernet branca ice cream yields to river otter stew, then we have fish ice cream, lampreys in spirits, and the infamous Alien Pie. Just in case you’re too dense to understand that the recipes are revolting, Gerald at one point uses a supposed regional delicacy of smoked cat, which I’m guessing is supposed to be absurdly humorous, but really I was just angry at the author for placing that horrific image in my mind, especially since I often read with my beloved cat sitting on my lap.

Nevertheless, I found myself more than once explaining (or, rather, trying and failing to put into context) exactly why I was laughing so much as I was reading.
What makes it worth the trouble are the character’s occasional observations, especially Marta’s. Here’s Marta, for example, on flying a helicopter:

Flying these things is tricky. It’s all a matter of coordination, with both hands doing things in two different planes and independently of the feet. In its way it’s quite like playing the organ. It surely oughtn’t to be any more difficult to fly one of these than it is to play a Bach trio sonata. Easier, actually, given the number of qualified helicopter pilots and the dearth of organists good enough to play the trio sonatas. p. 234

My favorite moment in the book is when Gerry and Marta are both surprised to learn they both speak decent Italian:

“Well!” [Gerald says] at last. “A morning of revelations.”

“Yes, Gerry. Not the least being that you speak such good Italian.”

“And the same for you, Marta. I at least have been living in Italy some time. From now on it seems we have a language in common. I wonder if we’ll be the same people?”

“I do hope not.” p. 216

Hilarious. It took a while for the humor to build and the recipes are truly stomach turning, but at the end I was snorting with laughter. I have started reading it again for the sheer pleasure of his snarky humor.

this, dear reader, is comedic genius. when a serious literary writer takes on farce, it's the best of all worlds. not one, but two unreliable narrators. is "intellectual slapstick" a thing? it should be, because that's what this is. not only best trilogy EVER, but also source of my new poison. yay to this, and its sequels.

Outrageously laugh-out-loud funny. The repulsive recipes alone are worth every word. As I got more accustomed to the two characters’ voices the prose became less funny and the book slowed, but I still hugely enjoyed the farcical high jinks.

A witty and wonderful surprise sent to me by my aunt and cousin - what a gem! One part Peter Mayle and one part Peter Sellers (down to laugh out loud physical comedy and bumbling escapades ranging from UFOs, flares gone awry and suspicious Italian police) this was a thoroughly enjoyable read!

Character driven comedy with dark, dry and even some slapstick humour

I didn't manage to read this in Mexico, though I was told it would be the perfect smart-person airplane book, but I did pick it up as soon as I got back, and it was very much as promised: dryly hilarious, fast-moving, clever, and a whole lot of fun.

Cooking With Fernet Branca is dual-ly narrated by two next-door neighbors living on the Italian countryside: Gerard Samper, a very proper Englishman and self-proclaimed "master chef" (more on that soon), who makes his money ghostwriting autobiographies for idiotic sports stars; and Marta, a somewhat bumpkin-ish composer from Eastern Europe (Voynovia, actually) who has been commissioned to write a film score for a famous arty and controversial Italian film director.

So. Gerard and Marta are incredibly well-drawn characters, from her pidgin English and lovingly frazzled appearance to his fastidious mannerisms and constant stream of sarcastic inner monologue. They are both a bit unreliable as narrators, which is done with great subtlety at times, and then become very overt when the narrative switches sides and we get to see the same scene retold through the other's eyes. Their relationship is so complex, so changing, so real, that it carries the entire book brilliantly.

See, they hate each other. I mean, each was told when they bought their houses that their immediate neighbor was quiet and calm, and would only be home maybe one month out of the year. But Marta's brother keeps stopping by in a helicopter in the middle of the night, and Gerard sings horrifically off-key opera while he avoids work by loudly building fences and other such, and each drives the other totally crazy with their drunkenness and terrifying cooking.

And oh, the cooking!! This is where the book's darkest humor shimmers horrifyingly. Gerard, who punctuates his sections with explicitly detailed recipes, loves to cook. And the things he cooks are...well...not for the faint of heart. Examples include: stuffed udder in butterscotch sauce, smoked cat pot pie, parrots 'n' carrots, horse custard, and more and more. In fact, one of the subtle ways in which he wages war with Marta is with cuisine mépriseur, the cuisine of contempt. She – though unwittingly – does about the same thing, by always trying to feed him homemade Voynovian treats, which are every bit as horrifying to his palate as his deep-fried mice would be to hers.

In any case, of course, they bicker and fight and scheme and plot, and eventually work their way into one another's good graces, more or less. There is much much more to this book than I have let on here, but I hope I have at least...whet some appetites, as it were, because I really think James Hamilton-Paterson ought to be better known. I plan to get both the other books he's written about Gerard and Marta tout suite, before the fall ends and I am expected to read more, er, serious literature.

I read this one and RANCID PANSIES way back when, and gave them both away. Problem was I read them out of order and never got around to the third book. So I ordered a set and enjoyed re-reading. Anyway I really love Marta - she deserved better than her rude awakening!! I have completely forgotten what happens next so hopefully she will enjoy tremendous success and really get on Samper's nerves!

Very funny and nasty. A great send up of those supposed travelogues in which open-minded Americans or sensitive Englishmen enjoy themselves far too much in foreign countrysides. The plot is hardly worth mentioning, but the two main characters are a riot, the situations they find themselves in are beyond belief, and the featured recipes are unimaginably ludicrous and disgusting. A rare treat.